I opened the door and some smoke escaped. I sat down and once again took it all in. Frank smiled at me and said, “All right…” His hair was messy and looked like he fell asleep in his car, which he may have. He had on a pair of blue plaid shorts and an old Super Bowl t-shirt. His eyes were bloodshot as he opened them after sucking on a joint for what seemed like an eternity.
I decided to start, “So… what’s going on with you?" I said, cringing at my lack of eleoquence, he did that to me. He laughed, put out the joint and took a sip of the blue Gatorade in his cup holder. His smile faded and his bloodshot eyes looked sad.
“My life is shitting over,” he said, letting out a small laugh as his eyes stared at the floor of his car. That’s when he pulled his seat into the flat position and let me play psychiatrist to his psycho. I pulled my seat back and stared into his eyes, savoring this moment, because this could be the closest I would ever get to sleeping with him.